


The Count

by laetificat



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 02:49:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16966269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laetificat/pseuds/laetificat
Summary: A fill for theRDR kink meme: Dutch spanking Arthur.Pre-game (probably).





	The Count

Dutch's hand paused on Arthur's naked ass, palm and long fingers spread over his soft round cheeks. 

"Count for me, son."

Arthur felt a delighted shudder run through him at the words. He didn't question why. He'd grown used to not questioning any of his feelings for Dutch -- or indeed anything to do with their relationship and what it had slowly grown into over the years, from orphan foundling to protégé to whatever he was now, sprawled, wanton and needy, over his lap. 

Dutch's rings were cool and heavy against Arthur's skin. Arthur drew in a breath as the pressure of that hand disappeared, anticipating -- _needing_ \-- what was coming. He gripped the thin coverlet of the bed, resisting the urge to push his achingly hard cock against Dutch’s thigh.

The slap of impact flared through his body. Arthur yelped, despite himself. Dutch’s other hand, fisted in his hair, clenched, pulling his head up a little. The feel of it made Arthur’s hips rock forward, helplessly seeking more. Dutch leaned over him.

“I don’t believe I heard the count,” he murmured, a cougar’s purr.

“One,” Arthur gasped. “One, Dutch.” 

“Sir,” Dutch corrected, stroking his fingers over Arthur's backside. He was leaning back against the headboard, languid but commanding. The smoke from his cigar made the air taste bitter on Arthur's tongue. 

“One, sir.” Arthur shifted a little, feeling Dutch's own erection against his belly. Knowing Dutch was turned on by him made him feel proud, sort of. Proud to be able to please him. Proud to be the one Dutch wanted.

“Good boy,” Dutch murmured. He lifted his hand again. Again, another stinging slap. Two. Three. Four. Five. An even rhythm, the count falling from Arthur's lips chased by panting breaths. The burning pain of each impact raced up and down his body, from ass to belly to cock to toe tips, swelling and retreating, until it wasn't retreating at all but became an exquisite thrumming warmth punctuated by flares of pain, like a guitar string plucked and held so a single note played out, over and over. 

Six. Seven. Eight. Arthur felt himself sliding down in Dutch's lap, limbs loosening as pleasure and pain washed over him, his world narrowing down to the breaths between each impact, to the feel of it rocking through him, to the struggle to remember what number they were at. To the grind of his cock, wet and hard, against Dutch's trousered thigh. To the sound of Dutch's breathing, becoming heavier. 

Nine. Nine. Wait, ten? Was it ten? Arthur didn't bother trying to make the count, instead making inarticulate sounds with each impact of Dutch's hand. Dutch's hand gripped his hair and the pace increased and became harder as punishment for his failure, so the pain and pleasure raced each other like lines of fire in a forest of dry brush, consuming the ready tinder of Arthur's body. 

Heaviness and heat began to build in the pit of Arthur's body, a tightening in his balls, and he ground himself shamelessly against Dutch's leg, needing, wanting. 

Then the impacts stopped, suddenly, replaced by the slide and slickness of Dutch's fingers between Arthur's legs, parting his thighs, then up and slipping inside, a delicious pressure and a different kind of pain, but no less wanted. Arthur pushed back against them, letting out small cries of helpless lust. Dutch's hand in his hair became a caress over his face, fingertips slipping between his lips, which he sucked obediently, drawing a groan from Dutch, who was somewhere above him, inside him, all around him. 

Dutch's fingers moved in and out of Arthur's ass, two and then three, drawing out the notes of Arthur's moans from the instrument of his body, and then Dutch was pushing him away, turning him around on the bed, and Arthur knew what to do, burying his face in his arms and letting himself cry out as he felt Dutch's cock push deep inside him. 

The impact of Dutch's fabric-draped hips against Arthur's bruised and reddened ass was a sweet agony, each frenzied thrust making the pain blossom anew, but Arthur was beyond it, caught up in the feel of his orgasm building, of Dutch's leaning weight, the hand planted between his shoulder blades pushing him down while keeping his ass in the air to be taken, ridden, owned by Dutch, who was crying out himself now, choking curses and endearments, speeding up, faster and harder, until Arthur couldn't hold it back any longer and he came, sudden and helpless like being kicked by a horse, his whole body shuddering as his seed splattered the bedding beneath him. Dutch's fingers dug into his hips, and he too shuddered and cried out, burying himself deep in Arthur, hips jerking as he spent himself inside his boy. 

A time of release, of blurred half-images, Arthur's whole being trembling with the retreating tides of pain and pleasure mingled. After a time he felt himself gathered up, and then Dutch's chest was beneath his head and he was curled along the side of his body, tethered to consciousness by the sound of Dutch's heartbeat and the brush of his fingers through his hair.

And it was enough, and he was content.


End file.
